𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑

~𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝒮𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃~

TARA

I walked through the front door, exhausted but exhilarated after a long day at school and my part-time job. At fifteen years old, I had to work two jobs and school to contribute to household income, especially considering the circumstances at home.

But today was different. Dad and I have a tradition of making bracelets together the night before my birthday, and then tomorrow, Dad and I were going to continue our tradition of having ice cream together.

It started when my mom left us, and every year on my birthday, Dad would take me to the local dairy queen. It became our special thing, just the two of us. And even though things had been tough lately, I knew he would make an effort to keep our tradition alive.

With a wide smile on my face, I dropped my bag by the door and called out, "Dad, I'm home!"

I walked into the living room, expecting to find him watching TV or reading the newspaper. But as I entered the room, excitement turned to confusion, and then fear. My heart pounded in my chest as I beheld the sight that would forever change my life.

Dad was lying on the couch, unmoving. His eyes were closed, and his face appeared pale and peaceful. For a moment, I thought he was sleeping until reality crashed down upon me like an avalanche. I rushed to his side, calling out to him, shaking his shoulders gently.

"Dad? Dad, wake up! It's me, Tara!" I pleaded, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. But there was no response, no sign of life. Panic gripped me tightly, and tears welled up in my eyes as I realized what had happened.

"No, no, no!" I sobbed, clutching onto his lifeless hand. "Please, Dad, wake up! Look, I got the stuff for the bracelets." I said while holding up the small bag. "Please don't leave me!"

As the weight of the situation sank in, I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I dialed the emergency number, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to explain the situation to the operator.

"911, what's your emergency?" a calm voice answered.

"My dad... he's not breathing. I think... I think he's gone," I managed to say, my voice choked with tears.

"Okay, I'm sending help right away. Stay on the line with me. Help is on the way," the operator assured me.

In the midst of my grief, I continued to talk to the operator, recounting what I had found and desperately hoping for a miracle. But deep down, I knew it was too late.

The sound of sirens grew louder, and soon, the paramedics rushed into the room. They gently guided me away from Dad, their expressions solemn as they assessed the situation.

"Is he... is he going to be okay?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

One of the paramedics knelt down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Your dad has passed away."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and a sob escaped my lips. "No, it can't be true. He can't be gone."

I collapsed onto the floor, my body wracked with grief. The reality of losing my father, my best friend, crashed down upon me with an overwhelming force. Sobs wracked my body, and I struggled to catch my breath as waves of panic washed over me.

"No, please, no!" I cried out, my voice filled with anguish. The weight of the situation felt suffocating, crushing me under its unbearable pressure. My heart pounded in my chest, and my vision blurred with tears.

The paramedics exchanged concerned glances, realizing the depth of my distress. They approached me cautiously. "We understand how difficult this is for you. We're here to help."

But their words were lost in the whirlwind of emotions that consumed me. I thrashed and flailed, my panic escalating to a full-blown attack. Fear and grief mingled as I struggled against the reality that my father was gone.

In an effort to protect me and ensure my safety, the paramedics made the difficult decision to restrain me. Their touch felt foreign and invasive, exacerbating my distress. I screamed and pleaded for them to let me go, to release me from the confines of their grasp.

As the chaos unfolded, one of the paramedics reached for their radio, requesting additional assistance.

Within moments, a police officer arrived at the scene. They assessed the situation and recognized the urgency of my circumstances. They made a quick decision to contact Child Protective Services.

Through the fog of my panic, I heard the officer speaking into their radio. "We need CPS to come to the scene. The girl is in distress, and she has no immediate family to care for her."

The weight of those words settled heavily on me, amplifying my anguish. The realization that I was alone, without anyone to lean on, intensified my grief.

As the paramedics and police officer worked together to calm me down, I gradually began to regain a semblance of control. My sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, and my breathing steadied, though tears continued to flow down my cheeks.

My dad was dead, and my mother was God knows where. I'm alone in this world.

I sat up on the bed in tears. The memories just kept coming, and it was suffocating. I couldn't sleep. I just... I just want to stop feeling.

My eyes landed on the sleeping pills. I grabbed a bottle shakily and took a handful of them. I just need to sleep. I need to be at peace. I want to see my dad again, even if it's just in a dream.

~♡~